


I Only Have Eyes For You

by lipeviez



Series: Ballads [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Attraction, Dancing, Day 2: Dancing, F/F, FW2021.1, Fleurmione Week 2021.1, Mild Angst, Pining, conflicted attraction, dance, fleurmioneweek, fleurmioneweek2021.1
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-16
Updated: 2021-03-16
Packaged: 2021-03-24 23:28:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,864
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30080001
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lipeviez/pseuds/lipeviez
Summary: A dance introduces Hermione to possibilities she didn’t know existed, possibilities she didn’t know she wanted, but there’s nothing to be done when the source of those possibilities has just married someone else.A prequel toYou’ll Lose A Good Thing
Relationships: Fleur Delacour/Hermione Granger
Series: Ballads [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2213112
Comments: 26
Kudos: 48
Collections: Fleurmione Week 2021.1





	I Only Have Eyes For You

**Author's Note:**

> What better entry for this Fleurmione week than one that’s related to an entry from the previous Fleurmione week? 
> 
> I wasn’t planning on delving back into the world of _You’ll Lose A Good Thing_ , as those who commented and asked after that fic can attest, but this idea about a dance came to me months ago and I just kept mulling it over. Then Fleurmione week 2021.1 had a dance prompt, which was the sign I needed to finally write it. 
> 
> Title taken from The Flamingos’ version of “I Only Have Eyes For You”
> 
> Day 2: Dancing

_My love must be a kind of blind love_   
_I can’t see anyone but you_

_Are the stars out tonight?_   
_I don’t know if it’s cloudy or bright_   
_I only have eyes for you, dear_

~*~

Laughter, music, and conversation filled the tent, and the party celebrating the nuptials of William Weasley and Fleur Delacour looked like it would last into the wee hours. Preparations in the lead-up to the wedding had kept Hermione busy but not distracted enough to forget that she, Harry, and Ron would be leaving soon. With the party in full swing, however, her worries stayed blissfully in the background. The band may have looked fancy in their golden jackets but their repertoire was diverse, including a fair amount of muggle songs. Hermione hadn’t danced so much since the Yule Ball during her fourth year. Even Harry in his disguise as “Cousin Barny” seemed to be enjoying himself. She laughed as Ginny pulled him into yet another dance.

Ron had danced with her for a song at the start but begged off saying he wasn’t much for dancing, so she had fun with Viktor, Harry, Ginny, and Luna. Every now and then she would glance at the newlyweds. They were beautiful together. Sometimes they danced and sometimes Bill would leave his bride to talk with family and friends or to dance with others. During those times, Fleur would either sit at the couple’s table or sit with her parents and sister at theirs. The few cousins that had shown up on her side were being entertained by Fred and George so Fleur only chatted with them sporadically. Unfortunately, not many other guests approached her for a dance even though Hermione understood that dancing with the bride was supposed to be pretty common at weddings. And she remembered how much fun Fleur seemed to have on the dancefloor at the Yule Ball.

Thoughts of the bride were replaced by Ginny when the young redhead whipped up many of their friends to dance with Bill. He played along good-naturedly, sweeping his partners off their feet or embarrassing them with a comical dance.

Hermione was just about done with her own dance with the groom. It was a fast-paced song and she was breathless after all the turns Bill led her into. When the song ended, she hugged him happily and rejoined Ginny at a nearby table.

The redhead grabbed two glasses of firewhisky from a passing waiter’s tray, handed one to Hermione, and the brunette tipped her head back to down it.

“Easy there,” chided Ginny with a knowing grin. “The night is young and you don’t want to be under the table just yet.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” replied Hermione, finishing her drink, feeling the burn down her throat. “Where’s Ha–, um, _Barny_?”

“Oh, in the house with Ron. They’ll be back soon.”

They turned to watch the party and then Ginny nudged Hermione.

“I dare you to ask Phlegm for a dance. No one else seems to want to.”

“Stop using that horrid nickname,” scolded Hermione, turning in Fleur’s direction. “I thought you left that in the past.”

“Sorry. Old habit. She’s not really that bad. And I do hope for the best in their marriage. It’s just…”

“Just?” Hermione asked, turning back to Ginny.

“I don’t know,” Ginny murmured. “It just seems rushed. Like they’re trying to convince everyone and each other, you know?”

“No, I don’t.” Hermione furrowed her brow, wondering what her friend was getting at.

“They don’t seem to either,” Ginny said knowingly. The redhead paused, seeming to think over whether she wanted to say more. “Maybe that’s why Mum was so hard on her before. Maybe Mum sees what I see.”

Hermione didn’t really want to delve further into the unfair treatment Molly and Ginny had shown Fleur. Or think about how she had participated in it.

“Well, I hope you’re wrong. Fleur deserves to be happy… I mean, they both do.” She quickly added that remark at the end, unsure why she had focused on the Veela first.

Ginny didn’t miss it, though, and gave her an unreadable look. Then she grabbed her hand and pulled her towards the bride.

“Come on. Let’s give her a proper girls’ welcome to the family. We didn’t get to have a hen night, or whatever it is the muggles call it. I’ll go first.”

Hermione chuckled and let herself be led by her friend. Then she watched as Fleur’s face lit up at Ginny’s invitation to dance.

The two of them started off in an exaggerated waltz and laughed as they transitioned to chatting and swaying to a mid-tempo muggle song.

After they were done, Ginny pulled Fleur over for Hermione’s turn. She blushed as Fleur held her hand out to her. They’d never touched before. The air thinned out as a strange nervousness took hold.

“Shall we, ‘Ermione?” asked Fleur with an elaborate bow.

It was an up-tempo song. She could handle this. She could dance with a girl who she had always found intimidating. Hermione nodded and placed her hand in Fleur’s. A tingle shot through her hand and up her arm, and Hermione thought nothing of it at first but when she looked up at the blonde, the older witch seemed surprised and then shook her head as if to dismiss something. Whatever it was, it was gone and the Frenchwoman’s kind smile returned as she drew her out onto the dancefloor. For a few seconds of awkwardness, they bobbed their heads and bounced their shoulders to the beat until Fleur bravely put her hands on Hermione’s waist and pulled her closer.

The blonde smiled, “We can more easily talk this way, oui?”

The bookworm gulped. “Right. Easier.”

She didn’t know where to put her hands at first but quickly concluded she was being silly. Smiling away her embarrassment, she placed her hands on the Veela’s shoulders, only to find herself even more embarrassed at touching her skin. It was too late to pull back so she forced herself to stay put.

The younger witch noticed how Fleur’s lips parted slightly and her eyelids fluttered as the weight of Hermione’s hands settled into a comfortable grip. But then Fleur just smiled and held her waist more firmly in order to get Hermione to sway more to the song.

By this time, the song was almost over and a relieved Hermione filled the ending moments with polite comments about the wedding and how beautiful Fleur’s dress was, and clumsily sidestepping the blonde’s questions about returning to Hogwarts. But when the song changed to a slow number, Fleur didn’t let go. In fact, she held out her left hand so she could properly lead the next dance. Hermione should’ve walked away. She should’ve thanked Fleur for the dance and made her escape. Instead, she took her hand and did her best to suppress the resulting shiver that rattled through her.

“That song was fun but I do love slow songs and I’ve ‘ardly ‘ad a chance to dance to those,” Fleur said with an almost sheepish smile.

 _Of course_ , Hermione thought and smiled back. A very reasonable thing for a bride to want at her own wedding. She noted how Fleur’s accent wasn’t as strong as it was a few years ago and predicted that soon the Frenchwoman would be able to manage the ‘h’ sound quite easily.

Fleur’s remark had obviously been meant to set her at ease, and for a brief moment it did. But then the woman maneuvered them to the edge of the dancefloor that was furthest from her friends. Hermione looked around and there were many couples around them dancing but she felt more isolated since she didn’t know them. In the distance, she caught a glimpse of Ginny squeezing Harry’s hand before walking away, presumably to socialize elsewhere. Behind them, Bill was chatting with Ron and some of his friends. No one seemed to pay any mind to her dance with Fleur. No one noticed how Hermione seemed to be losing her breath with every dance step.

She looked at the woman in front of her and saw how she gazed softly at her, the blue showing depths that Hermione hadn’t allowed herself to see before. Fleur appeared to want to say something but instead the older witch’s hand pulled at her waist until they were only inches apart.

Hermione was tongue-tied and tried not to stare, looking this way and that, directing smiles at her dance partner but keeping them distant. Polite. _Stay polite, Hermione_.

With almost a mind of its own, her hand on Fleur’s shoulder moved to wrap around her back, grazing past the sheer material to bare skin just below the nape of her neck, silver blonde tresses brushing the back of her hand as the two women twirled. It felt different than dancing with Viktor and Ron, or even with Bill. Fleur led but didn’t dominate. Her firmness was gentle and guiding, and Hermione liked how much better it felt to dance with her.

The intimacy of it should’ve been uncomfortable, an intrusion, but it wasn’t. Instead, it felt natural, like the push and pull of the blonde’s presence in her personal space had been expected all along. At first, their joined hands were held out to their side in a proper position but as the dance progressed, they gradually moved inward until Hermione’s knuckles were held against Fleur’s upper chest. The pads of Fleur’s fingers pressed the back of her hand like she wanted to pull her in closer. The touch was weighted, potent with a meaning she couldn’t figure out.

“It’s a bit roasting, isn’t it?” Hermione asked in a breathy whisper, more to herself than to her dance partner but Fleur answered anyway.

“Mm, oui, I am feeling flushed as well.” The blonde said it while looking away from Hermione, almost absentmindedly, as if she didn’t know she’d spoken. The younger witch stared at her, noticing the light shine on her brow, the slight pursing of her lips, the way the Veela looked indecisive over whatever was bothering her.

Hermione had always thought Fleur was beautiful. And she’d been jealous of how easily the girl had attracted suitors back at Hogwarts. Her cold demeanor and insults of her school had not endeared the Frenchwoman to the brunette either. But in retrospect, it _was_ cold in Scotland in the autumn and winter months, and the food _was_ heavy compared to the French cuisine Fleur was used to. Hermione had chalked up her persistent irritation with the blonde back then to immaturity and pettiness but now she wondered if there had been other sources to that jealousy.

Fleur was _very_ pretty.

A very pretty woman who now seemed to be staring at her lips.

The Veela’s eyes suddenly broke out of their daze and darted up to look at hers, widening at the realization of what she’d been doing, and Hermione found herself wanting to touch the growing pink on Fleur’s cheeks to feel how hot they were. She resisted and closed her eyes in an attempt to compose herself. Breathing deeply, the scent of Fleur caught her attention and she leaned forward to smell again. A delicate perfume filled her senses. Floral. Maybe lilac?

She heard Fleur’s breath hitch and Hermione pulled back in alarm but strong hands kept her in place.

“Let’s finish the song,” whispered Fleur before spinning them until they were both dizzy and laughing, their humor covering up how they were clinging to each other. Then just as suddenly, they stilled, barely swaying to the song, close but not close enough. Fleur’s fingers digging into her lower back, Hermione’s nose brushing up against her shoulder, Fleur’s exhale in her ear, Hermione’s fingertips tracing gentle circles around the ridges of Fleur’s spine.

The air crackled, the headiness of it swallowing Hermione up like a fog, but rather than becoming blurry, the vision of Fleur grew sharper, the feel of her more vivid. Her eyes followed the slender lines of her neck upward, mapping every beauty mark, following the line of her jaw…

Wait.

What was happening?

_Am I…?_

They stared into each other’s eyes and Hermione fell into them, completely lost in this revelation, blindsiding her like a blast wave until she could feel nothing else except the pure heat of Fleur in her arms.

It wasn’t as if she’d never found herself drawn to a girl before. Those times just never developed into full-blown crushes as it did with boys so she tended to ignore that part of her sexuality. She most definitely couldn’t ignore it now. But was that all this was? Her bisexuality reminding her that she could respond this way to more than one gender? It would be the simpler explanation. Just a very basic and understandable reaction to an extremely beautiful woman. The problem was that there was nothing simple about what she was feeling at this very moment. This new awareness of Fleur surged through her. It was electrifying and it was greedy. But Fleur was married. The woman had _just_ gotten married to Ron’s brother.

_Ron!_

Her eyes flitted about, looking for him. She spotted Harry talking with some older guests. Finally, she saw Ron sitting with Ginny, drinking butterbeer and laughing. Ginny seemed more focused on her, though. Hermione quickly turned back to Fleur, hoping her blush wasn’t too noticeable. But the woman’s eyes were closed, her features introspective and puzzled.

“You are with Ronald, oui?” husked Fleur, her eyes opening. It was not the first time she’d fielded this particular question that day, but somehow the curiosity in Fleur’s expression seemed more desperate than innocent.

“I… yeah, sort of… we’re still figuring that out,” replied Hermione weakly. She didn’t really want to talk about him now. Not when her heart was pounding so loudly, calling for her attention like it had something to tell her, something she needed to know.

The older witch swallowed and nodded as if she was trying to clear her head.

“Fleur…” The whisper spilled out of Hermione’s lips before she could stop it. She needed to ask. She was drowning in these feelings, unable to name them, and the only thing that kept her from being completely overwhelmed was the sense that she wasn’t alone in the deluge. 

But then the song ended and Bill was beside them, smiling at his wife, oblivious to Hermione’s turmoil.

The Frenchwoman bowed her head demurely, breathing a soft ‘merci’ as Hermione smoothly pulled out of her arms. The bookworm struggled to keep her expression friendly and not betray how she itched to bring Fleur’s body back into hers. The impression of the woman lingered on her skin, like footprints along the beach. Deep. Defined. But all too soon, reality’s unrelenting waves were washing them away.

“Goodness, I think I could use some fresh air,” laughed Hermione shakily, exaggerating her breathless state and playing it off as exertion. “Thank you for the dance, Fleur. You are a lucky man, Bill.”

He laughed, clearly taking it as a joke, and that was how she had intended it, but once the words were uttered the aftertaste of truth and envy sat bitter on her tongue. Guilt followed, and it was like bile in her mouth.

“I know,” Bill replied with a smile, “And thanks for entertaining my wife for a bit. Not many from her side of the family could come so I’m glad to see you and Ginny making her feel at home while I’m making the rounds.”

“Of course. It was my pleasure,” Hermione replied, just barely keeping her smile from turning to a grimace as the jealous knot in her throat grew. She needed to get away before it choked her.

Hermione glanced again at the blonde but the Veela’s hands were now wrapped around Bill’s arm and she was leaning her cheek against his shoulder. The icy mask on her face that reflected back at her, the one she hadn’t seen since fourth year, felt like a knife twisting painfully in her stomach. Hermione had thought they both felt something but maybe it had been one-sided after all. Had she gotten so caught up in whatever she’d been feeling that she tricked herself into seeing similar responses in Fleur?

Clenching her jaw, Hermione excused herself and fled the tent.

“What the bloody hell, Granger?” she muttered as she paced alone, ignoring the aurors on guard and running through all the excuses she could think of that would explain her behavior.

She wanted to blame Fleur’s thrall, conveniently forgetting how it had never affected her before. But the thrall made sense. These feelings didn’t. They weren’t even friends. They had barely spoken to each other over the years. And if not the thrall, then the firewhisky. She was just a bit inebriated, that had to be what it was.

After calming herself down with the excuse that it had just been an alcohol-induced delusion, she went back inside the tent. No one seemed to notice her absence. She saw Luna gesticulating wildly to a baffled Ron. Not far from them she saw Viktor look at her and nod his goodbye. She smiled and nodded back, glad his disappointment in her moving on from him didn’t seem to leave him bitter. Viktor disapparated. Hermione looked for Harry and saw him sitting alone watching Ginny, who was talking with Fred and George and two of Fleur’s cousins.

Letting herself relax a little, Hermione noticed Fleur sitting with Bill at their table, a glass of wine in her hand. Their eyes met and Fleur looked away as if bored, like nothing had happened.

Hermione scowled and went to sit next to Ron, hoping to distract herself in his conversation with Luna. She looked at Ron and smiled, letting herself be comforted by his presence. He annoyed her to no end but at the same time he grounded her. It was hard to explain why that was but she liked the familiarity and simplicity of him. She did love him. At least, she was fairly certain she did. Anything could happen, they might not work out, but Ron was the only one who could truly understand what being Harry Potter’s best friend had done to their lives. Who else could know her like he did? Even if he wasn’t always kind in his insecurities, she liked that the path of her life at his side was easy to see. Warmth. Safety. Being part of a family who had made her their own.

But no passion. No fire.

An aching loneliness came over her, and without thinking she looked back towards Fleur. No amount of blaming the firewhisky could push away the hints of life’s other possible paths teasing at the edges of her mind. Had she gotten a peek at something? Was she really the only one who had felt it?

“You two looked cozy out there.”

“Hmm?” Hermione turned to see Ginny sitting next her. _When did she sit down?_

“You and my new sister-in-law.”

“What… that was… you pushed us to dance so that’s what I did,” stammered Hermione quietly, feeling her cheeks redden, and hoping Ron was too busy with Luna to hear them.

“She certainly seemed to like it,” replied Ginny. The redhead’s expression and tone implied she was just giving Hermione a hard time but the eyes gave away how much she was scrutinizing her.

“Oh. Well, that’s good. You wanted us to give her a welcome, right?”

“Right. A welcome,” answered Ginny, looking over at the tables towards where Fleur was sitting. Hermione tried not to but she followed her friend’s gaze anyway, the flutter in her gut tugging her towards the Veela who was finishing off her wine. Ginny’s voice pulled her attention back. “Well, I guess our job’s done and she’s a proper Weasley now. Let’s not waste the rest of the party.”

Ginny pulled her onto the dancefloor but it didn’t stop Hermione’s eyes searching for the blonde whenever she could.

She saw Fleur with her family, her mother looking sternly at her daughter, the downward gesture of an elegant hand which may or may not have been directed towards the dancefloor, the bride looking ashen and chastened.

A couple of songs later, and Fleur was with her husband, her expression towards him holding an obvious fondness but also a tinge of sadness.

Minutes later and Ron finally joined her in another dance. Hermione was spinning around with him, trying and failing to make herself feel that electricity she had felt with the bride. The lack of it was jarring and said more about their relationship than she wanted to admit. He let go of her hands after a frenzied spin made the two of them dizzy, and she stumbled away from him only to see Fleur in the distance, eyes blazing at her like she wanted to talk.

Hermione wanted to talk, too. She wanted answers. Why was Fleur looking at her like that if the woman had felt nothing during their dance? Why had it felt so good to be close to her? And almost immediately, her chest constricted. Why this now? Why not before the wedding or before the engagement? When this longing would have had the freedom to bloom without guilt. When she could’ve _done_ something about it.

Alarm bells sounded in her head, warning her away from doing anything that caused pain to those who loved her. But those warnings couldn’t cover up an inner voice full of recklessness telling her to blow up the set path in order to uncover the one beneath.

What would she find there? Where did it lead? And was Fleur part of it?

The blood roared in her ears. She had to know.

She took two determined steps towards the other woman and then suddenly a patronus arrived.

The ministry had fallen.

People pushed and screamed. They were being attacked. Panicked, Hermione went to grab the boys. They had to get out before their plan got derailed.

Once she had Ron in hand, she took a second for one more glance at the woman who had turned her world upside down with a dance. Fleur was next to Bill, their wands out, ready to fight and protect each other.

The sight of them together brought a sting to Hermione’s eyes but also a resolve to let go of that irrational urge from the moment before. Whatever fancies and possibilities she’d glimpsed would have to be purged from her mind. They were each where they belonged, Fleur with her husband and she with Ron.

Hermione tore her gaze away when Harry finally grabbed onto her free arm, relieved that the boys would mistake her anguish as part of the fear they all felt. She concentrated on apparating, feeling the familiar tightening inside, squeezing those thoughts that no longer mattered into nothingness.

It was too late to explore the hidden depths of her heart. Too late for anything other than love and loyalty for her best friends and keeping them alive.

Time had run out.

**Author's Note:**

> I think we all know Fleur felt something, too
> 
> For my version of the wedding reception, I combined details from both the book and film, while adding my own divergent take. In terms of the dresses Hermione and Fleur wore, I like the ones they wore in the movie.
> 
> Thank you for reading, hope you liked it. I have a feeling I’m not done writing for this world so keep an eye out for more in this series lol


End file.
